


Not Reg

by riverlight



Series: Tumblr ficlets [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Dress Up, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1586171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverlight/pseuds/riverlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never did this, in country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Reg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dira Sudis (dsudis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/gifts).



> Ficlet #2 in the "[send me picture-prompts so I can write you a ficlet](http://riverlight82.tumblr.com/post/83161294155/im-up-late-and-want-to-get-back-into-writing-so)" series, based on [this photograph](http://chirinstock.deviantart.com/art/Generation-Kill-13-359988551), for [dsudis](http://tmblr.co/mi4JURR6RANSHn-yhHvMOmA).

They never did this, in country.

Not that Brad didn’t think about it all the goddamn time, watching Fick lick his lips ’til they were ragged and raw in the dry Iraqi heat. It got so that he almost thought Fick was doing it on purpose, gnawing at his lower lip worriedly while he studied the maps, biting at a pen-cap while he jotted down notes just because he knew it was driving Brad fucking crazy—but that was the fucking insanity of war, wasn’t it, making you think things that only seemed reasonable because you were subsisting on dip and stimulants and MREs in the middle of a war zone.

Wasn’t a goddamn bit of truth to any of it, and Brad knew it, but that truth seemed awfully fucking hard to remember when he was operating on 36 hours without sleep and Fick was biting even white teeth into his plush pink lips, weirdly out-of-place in his tanned and grime-creased face. Sometimes the thought of Fick’s pink lips opening hungrily around his cock was what kept him sane, one fucking moment of release in the midst of the shit.

Except they never did it, because Brad’s imagination doesn’t count.

But here they are, Nate on his knees in front of him, licking his lips and glancing up at him, grinning wickedly.

It’s not the same—the uniform’s loose, and definitely not Marine Corps standard camo, and Nate’s hair is longer, curling riotously around his collar—and for one instant it’s like he’s back there again, furtively getting off behind a berm to the thought of his LT on his knees in front of him, getting off to the thought of his LT’s fucking lips.

“The uniform’s not fucking reg, Nate,” he says, and it’s not like he’s wrong; it’s not unimpressive, for a piece of crap rented from some civilian party warehouse, but it’s not accurate either, and of course he’s going point that out, what did Nate expect of him, here?

Except Nate’s grinning up at him, eyes laughing, and he clearly caught the way Brad’s voice trembled, a little, there. “Brad,” he says. “Stop _thinking,”_ and slides his lips over the head of Brad’s cock.


End file.
